The Horse With My Name (25 page)

‘Please,’ she said, ‘I use my mother’s name.’

‘Okay. Hilda,’ I said. She grinned, but it faded quickly. The memory of her mother was still etched on her face. She was lucky she couldn’t see what my memory of her mother was. ‘This begs the question,’ I said, ‘as to the true location of the horse known as Dan.’

‘Well now,’ said Mandy.

We stepped back down on to the dock. The cool sea air tasted cool and sea-like. There was chanting coming from Rangers supporters already opening cans of beer as they waited to board the fleet of buses lined up along the dock. Mandy’s hair blew around her face. There was a half-moon in the sky. Bosco walked ahead of us. I caught her arm and pulled her back. ‘Stop messing around,’ I snapped.

She pulled her arm free. ‘If you ever lay another finger on me again, except when we’re in bed, I’ll break your spine.’

I held my hands up in surrender. ‘Just
tell
me.’

‘It’s like real life Dan, the poor catch the ferry, the merely average get squashed into a cargo plane, the high-flyers, well, they fly in style. I have a mate works for a contract company that flies horses between here and England, the rest of Europe, every day. Dan’s travelling under a false name with nine other horses. He’ll be in stables by now, not far from Aintree. There. I trust ninety-five per cent of you, Dan, but the other five is just stopping me telling you which stables. Okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good. Now we have to catch a train. Bosco has
our
tickets. If you want to join us, you’d better hurry.’

‘You
will
wait.’

‘Will I?’

She walked off. I waited for her to turn and smile or wink or offer encouragement, but she kept walking. I checked
my pockets for the money Mouse had given me. Not that it mattered. If I couldn’t afford a ticket I’d just climb on to the roof.

Somewhere around the border between Scotland and England, Bosco got involved in a card game with a couple of squaddies several seats back. They were all drunk. There’d be a couple of minutes of cursing, then hysterical laughter. He came back once to check that Mandy was all right, and then a second time to borrow a tenner off her. We didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.

Seeing as she was so flush, I borrowed a tenner off her as well and bought a bottle of whiskey and half a dozen cans of Diet Coke at the bar. Whiskey and Diet Coke isn’t one for the connoisseurs, but who gives a flying frig about connoisseurs? It gets you drunk and you don’t put on any weight. They’d run out of ice, but there was a trolley with an ice compartment selling ice pops for kids, and I bought some of those. We stuck them upright into our drinks and laughed at our crappy-looking cocktails. And then after a while she got maudlin about her mother and I gave her a sympathetic ear, which was like a normal ear, but with more wax to filter out the emotions. She loved her mother, and she loved her father, but they’d fucked her up. They do that. She loved Dan the Man more than anything in the whole wide world, and coming hot off my own rough-tongue experience I asked her if she’d any interest in bestiality and she threw a sharpened ice pop at me. We laughed then, for a while, and then we looked at each other, and out of the window, and listened to Bosco giving them the Irish blarney and them saying they loved the Irish, now that they weren’t shooting them any more.

Mandy was talking, and she was beautiful and sad and interesting, but I was drifting. I was thinking about Trish
and where to go next, and my life and how to get it back on track. If I wasn’t dead by the end of the week I was going to have to make radical changes. Mouse was right. I had to start saying no. He would get me work. There was no doubt about that. Something that wouldn’t put me in the line of fire. I could review films. Or the theatre. Or restaurants. I would attend fashion shows and coffee mornings and promote charitable causes. People were dying in Africa and had no choice about it. I was dying because I always made the wrong choice. In future, I would go with the opposite of whatever my instincts told me. They said left, I’d go right, unless it was into oncoming traffic. Yes, things were going to change. There had been too much death and too many bullets and although it seemed like there had been a reasonable amount of sex, most of it had been tied into those very same periods of death and destruction and seemed now more like callous acts of self-destruction rather than the expressions of love they were supposed to be. Or were they supposed to be that at all? The sexual instinct . . .

Bugger.

Another five minutes and I’d be on to the meaning of life and why are we here and then I’d be gone for days. I shook myself, I blinked across at Mandy. She was still talking about her mother. A childhood memory. I smiled at her. She was so different from Trish. Like chalk and cheese. What I wanted to do was phone Trish and tell her all about this remarkable new girl I’d met, because although we were barely speaking, Trish was still my best friend and would be able to advise me what to do, how to play it. I wondered if she was thinking of me. Or the man with the beard. I would lamp him when I got home. Or haunt him, if I didn’t.

Mandy fell silent for a moment, and I dived in. ‘Back at your mum’s house, before the fire, I noticed all the Horse Whisperer equipment was gone.’

‘Yeah.’

‘So what’s the story, morning glory?’

‘She sold it. Lock, stock and two smoking barrels.’

‘The equipment or the . . .’

‘The equipment
and
the . . .’ She sighed. ‘It was getting too much for her. Dad was closing in, God knows who else too.’

‘Still,’ I said, ‘I thought it was her baby.’

Mandy shook her head. ‘More Corkery’s, with Mum providing the technical know-how. She only really kept it going after he died out of badness, to get at Dad, but once we dreamed up this whizz with Dan the Man, there didn’t seem much point in going through all the other hassle. So she got an offer she couldn’t refuse.’

‘God. How much? Does
everything
revolve around money?’

‘Of course it does. She got the grand sum of one pound, plus a promise to take over any outstanding legal problems and keep sticking a knife into the industry’s seedy little underbelly.’

‘I see. So who . . .?’

‘I can’t tell you that. The whole point of the Horse Whisperer is it’s anonymous.’

I sighed. ‘It’s you, isn’t it?’

‘Could be.’ She blew air down her nose and added playfully, ‘Or it could be Bosco. Could be the conductor on this train. You’ll never know.’

‘What about your dad?’ I asked.

‘He’s not going to buy it, he hates that kind of thing.’

‘Buy it through an intermediary, then kill it.’

‘No, don’t worry about it. It’s safe. The Horse Whisperer lives.’

‘I’ll drink to that.’ We replenished ice pops, then clinked glasses. I gave her my wise old man look. ‘You know, if your dad’s worked out that you’ve stolen Dan the Man, he’ll just
sit and wait for you at Aintree. Take him back, just like that. One could regard this big double-bluffy circuitous effort as a colossal waste of time.’

‘No. He thinks he’s connected, but he’s got nothing on my mum. All those years in the business, plus the Horse Whisperer? It’s all fixed. He won’t be able to lay a finger on us till Dan the Man’s in the parade ring at the earliest, and even then I’ll have lawyers standing by, plus the world’s press if he tries anything dramatic. Actually racing’s just going to be the icing on the cake.’

‘You’re not going to scare Jimmy the Chicken off with lawyers. What’s to stop him or his mates making a grab for the horse?’

‘Because they won’t get within a mile of Aintree. Since the IRA forced the cancellation of the race in ninety-seven security’s been wound up tight as a drum. They try to get weapons through, they’ll be jumped all over.’

I took another drink and stabbed myself in the eye with an icepop.

‘That’s why they call this train the red-eye,’ Mandy laughed.

‘No,’ I corrected, wiping at it, ‘they call it the
sleeper
. The red-eye’s the first train in the morning.’

‘Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Mister Know-All. Just because you stuck an ice pick in your eye.’

‘An ice
pop
. Just you watch yourself, girlie. Last time you got drunk you vomited all over my furniture.’

‘No, last time I got drunk I slept with you and stole a horse.’

‘Well the time before that.’

We sat quietly for a couple of miles. Then came cries of anguish from Bosco’s direction. I smiled at Mandy, she smiled back.

‘You’ve planned this well, haven’t you?’ I said.

She shrugged. ‘I didn’t plan for my mum to die.’

‘I know. But you’ve done well.’

‘Maybe. You were right, what you said back on the ferry, about winning it for her. I mean, if I wanted to win the National before, now I
really
want to win it. They say will power’s half the secret.’

‘That and a horse that can get over monster fences.’

‘Well I don’t think there’s much doubt about that. Dan’s the best ride I ever had.’

‘Can I have that in writing?’

She ignored me. ‘What can stop me?’

I shrugged. There were too many answers to that question for it to compute in my damaged brain.

26

I didn’t like it. I’m suspicious and pessimistic at the best of times. The journey out to the Livermore stables, twenty-five miles from Aintree, owned by one of Hilda’s oldest and dearest friends (though I wasn’t convinced that the dearest didn’t refer to how much she charged to feed big brown beasts straw), had assumed something of the spirit of a triumphant procession. Bad guys vanquished, superhorse awaiting glory over a couple of modest fences, millions in the bank, victory over her hated father, whose heart would melt at her audaciousness and they’d be reunited. Whereas I’ve always leaned more towards the unexpected death and horse as Fray Bentos scenario.

Mandy wasn’t exactly all smiles, her mother’s death didn’t allow that, but there was a quiet confidence that grew the closer we got to the stables, a slightly superior air about her that made me nervous. Maybe it was adrenalin. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was just me being sensitive. I’m the sensitive type.

Mandy ordered the taxi from the station with a barked command that made me jump. We had breakfasted on bacon sarnies. None of us had any luggage to speak of,
though I carried a lot inside. Or was that baggage? The Chinese had made off with what little Mandy and Bosco had brought with them. Bosco himself had the hangover to end all hangovers, although he was two hundred pounds to the good from his poker game. The soldiers had drifted in and out of drunken comas, allowing Bosco to cheat outrageously. Nevertheless, you can’t buy good health and the taxi stopped twice to allow him to throw up on the side of the road. Mandy tutted. I held my nose.

She kept looking at her watch. We had to get to the stables, pick up the horse, negotiate the traffic back to Aintree, then allow Mandy and Dan the Man time to get themselves
as one
for the biggest race of their lives. I imagined there was more to it than
giddy-up
. I had visions of Dan the Man warming up in his dressing room, pawing the air, thinking,
Come on, son, you can do it, you’re the best, you’re the greatest
, then they’d fight over the mirror.

‘Excited?’ I asked.

‘Damp with it,’ said Mandy.

‘Glad I asked.’

The driver was looking at her in the mirror.

‘What’s the plan after the race?’ I asked.

‘In what sense?’

‘You and me.’

‘Don’t know. I’ll be busy with the press. You’ll be wanting to write your book.’

‘Oh yeah. The book.’

I looked out of the window. She put her hand on my arm. ‘What do you think,’ she asked, ‘happy ending or sad ending?’

‘For you, me or the horse?’

‘All three.’

‘Well, bearing in mind that I usually get the short straw, I’d say happy, sad, lots of sex, respectively.’

She smiled. ‘I’d settle for happy, happy, happy.’

I nodded. ‘So would I.’

‘This the place?’ the driver asked. We looked ahead to the open metallic gates and the big sign which said
Livermore Stables
. The correct answer to his question was
Of course it’s the fucking place, can’t you read, dimwit?
but we settled for, ‘Yup, this looks like us.’

There was a lane leading up to several stable blocks about half a mile away, but the driver made no effort to enter. He looked back at us without any hint of apology and said, ‘Don’t want to get horse shit all over the car. Puts people off.’

So we paid him and got out and tipped him fifty pence on a £25 fare and he snarled something we couldn’t make out and then roared off. We started walking up the lane. The driver had a point. There was horse shit everywhere.

As we got closer, then closer still, Mandy’s cool confidence finally dissolved and she dashed towards the stables. Bosco glanced at me, then hurried after her. I brought up the rear. There were three stable blocks set in a triangle around a cobbled yard. There was no sign of activity. There were horsey sounds, sure, but nothing in the way of human beings.

I don’t like it, it’s too quiet
.

You’d be suspicious in heaven
.

I don’t like this, it’s too good
.

And zap, you’re in hell
.

So, wasn’t I right to be suspicious?

Mandy emerged from the first block, then dashed across to the second. Bosco followed, shrugged across at me, then hurried after her again. She emerged from the second, and hurtled into the third. And then, finally, there was an excited shout. Bosco wandered out of the second, looked at me again and said, ‘Guess she found him.’

‘Yippee,’ I said.

I sauntered over. The stables were suitably stable-like. There were half a dozen horses still
in situ
, but the rest of the stalls stood empty. Gone racing, I guessed. Mandy was kissing Dan the Man on the nose. He was licking her throat. It felt like I was intruding. Bosco busied himself getting a halter and reins and other leathery things horses and strange men like to wear. When Mandy eventually broke away she beamed across at me. ‘Isn’t he beautiful?’ Before I could respond, she continued with ‘Aren’t you just beautiful?’ She kissed him again. ‘I am going to be
so
proud of you . . .’